Chapter Text
No man in history has, probably ever, looked so bored staring at pictures of half-naked women.
Zoro can’t help that his professor’s randomiser wheel chose him of all people to take ‘pin-up’ as the theme for his latest photography assignment—much to the ire of his heterosexual classmates—and now he’s stuck studying photos of bikini-clad ladies in a corner of the university library where he prays no one will see his laptop screen.
Now, gay and concerned about his search history as he may be, he can appreciate the artistry. The dynamic poses, the expressive faces, the bright patterns on what little clothes the models are wearing—it’s all good material to work with—but it’s formulaic. Every calendar and magazine is just filled with pretty, usually skinny girls in front of a solid-colour background, smiling sweetly with their arms or legs raised, wearing pastels or polka dots. Even the ones emblazoned on the sides of World War II Air Force planes are somehow boring.
He feels completely uninspired.
Sighing, Zoro shuts his laptop and picks up his phone. He needs help.
Today 15.34
Me: bro random question
usopp :p: yes hello
Me: would u be willing to dress up as a pinup girl and let me take pics of u
usopp :p: lmao no?????????? wtf????
Me: coward
usopp :p: why the hell would u ask me that????????
Me: assignment
usopp :p: theres no fucking way u have to take pin up photos for an assignment
Me: yh lol
usopp :p: they made U. the homosexual. do PIN UP
Me: fuck off i still have eyes
usopp :p: no wonder ur immediate thought was to put a man in drag smh
Me: can u die im so serious
Me: im struggling
usopp :p: ok well not to harp on about the gay thing but maybe u could do like
usopp :p: a rainbow
usopp :p: to modernise it a bit yknow
usopp :p: like have diff models in all the colours of the rainbow
usopp :p: and u can have a guy or two in the lineup why not
usopp :p: just not me
Me: that would b a great idea if every single image i find wasnt in some shade of brown red or orange lmao
usopp :p: u know u can filter google images by colour
Me: …
Me: r u serious
usopp :p: yes dumbass
Me: omg this changes everything
Me: genuinely thank u ur my hero
usopp :p: yea yea as long as i dont have to wear a bikini
With renewed excitement, Zoro reopens his laptop and sets about fiddling with the settings on the sidebar until he finds the colour filter, clicking the box for purple and watching in delight as the dull browns and faded reds are replaced with soft lilacs and royal violets. He scrolls through and saves a couple, and once he’s satisfied with his purples, he changes the colour filter once again to show him light pink.
One of the results he spots, as he’s sifting through the array of rose and blush and soft peach, is decidedly more modern-looking than the others around it. Zoro clicks the picture and studies.
The girl occupying his screen is slender, with waves of golden hair cascading around her dainty shoulders, looking coyly at the camera with half-lidded doe-brown eyes, brushed with pale blue glittery eyeshadow that gives her a doll-like appearance. Her lips are plump and pink, almost the same colour as the sateen bodysuit she’s wearing, trimmed all over with delicate white lace and ribbons, and leg holes cut high, arching just at her hip. The sweetheart neckline dips low, showing off her elegant collarbones. Even though she’s in a sitting position, Zoro can tell she’s tall, with long, gorgeous legs, partially covered with thin lacy white stockings.
She’s cute, he thinks, but immediately shakes the thought away.
The website under the image is titled Candy-Chan’s Princess Palace and, helplessly curious, Zoro clicks.
His screen becomes a wash of pastel pink and satin and ribbon and bows. More pictures of Candy-Chan float into view, framing a pink text box with a short bio and a website description in a cursive font that Zoro has to squint to read.
Hello everyone! >w<
My name is Candy-Chan! Welcome to my page!
I’m an artist, photographer, and model, who loves anything cutesy and princess-like 💗 Feel free to browse my gallery and I’ll be happy to keep you company in the comments!
If you have a special request for me, you can check out my shop too~
Intrigued, Zoro clicks on the heading for her gallery and scans her work. They’re good photos, he notes. Really good actually. Her creative vision is clear and consistent; Zoro can tell she’s not using a professional camera, but that hardly matters when her sets are so intricately built, with a variety of expensive-looking fabrics billowing down as backdrops, and various props mindfully placed to surround and frame Candy herself, enhancing her beauty without drawing too much attention away. Her poses and facial expressions are well-practiced and confident, and she clearly knows her way around a lighting rig. He finds himself impressed.
He opens the comments on one of the photos and is wholly unsurprised to find a gaggle of faceless accounts fawning over her. They range from innocent admiration to uncomfortably explicit fantasies, which make Zoro grimace, but Candy-Chan, to her credit, has replied to almost every single person who has complimented her in one way or another.
Pretty and sweet, Zoro muses. No wonder she has so many fans.
As he keeps scrolling, the gallery starts to display more and more blurred out squares with huge grey padlock icons. He hovers his mouse over one and sees a text bubble pop up that says, “please subscribe to see my more risque content~”
Zoro swallows. He’s not here for that, so he abandons the gallery for now and clicks the shop heading. It seems to just be higher-quality or physical copies of the images in her gallery, but at the bottom there’s a baby blue text box with the words Custom Order in that same barely-legible cursive. He clicks. It takes him to a blank page with nothing but an empty feedback box under pink text that reads, “how can i serve you? 💗 please submit any special requests for poses, outfits, scenarios, or positions in the box below and i’ll do my best to give you what you want~ thank you 💗”.
Heat prickles at Zoro’s neck. He’s just about to start typing a message asking if she would consider taking some photos that he could use in his assignment portfolio when his alarm rings, telling him that it’s almost 4pm. With a start, he tears his eyes away from Candy-Chan and shuts his laptop, packing up his things in a hurry so he can leave the library and make his way across campus to his MMA club. The moment he steps out, icy cold October air hits him in the face and snaps him out of the haze he was in.
Are you crazy? You are not asking some random girl on the internet for help with your homework, he scolds himself. He shakes his head again for good measure and heads towards the Phys Ed building.
x
Sanji is already there when he arrives. He’s stretching in front of the mirrors and smirks when he sees Zoro coming in late.
“Tardy as always,” he says by way of greeting, hopping off the floor to his feet.
“Shut up, longlegs,” Zoro bites back, pulling his hoodie off and flinging it unceremoniously to land next to Sanji’s meticulously folded kitchen uniform. “I was doing research for an assignment.”
Sanji’s eyes follow the flightpath of the hoodie disapprovingly. “Right.”
Zoro decides to ignore him, and starts doing his own stretches until their instructor calls them to attention.
To both of their dismay, Zoro and Sanji are assigned as sparring partners. The instructor ignores their protests, so the two of them don their gloves and face each other reluctantly.
“Don’t go easy on me, Curly,” Zoro says teasingly.
Sanji clicks his tongue in annoyance. “As if.”
They circle each other for a few moments before Sanji makes the first move. He begins with a kick of his right leg—predictable—which Zoro easily parries with a downwards slice of his right hand, and follows with a kick of his own, aiming for Sanji’s side. Sanji dodges backwards, and Zoro lunges further forward, landing a jab on his left shoulder. With a huff, Sanji darts to Zoro’s left side as he’s withdrawing his fist, kicks again, and this time his foot makes solid contact with Zoro’s ribs. Zoro yowls, maddened by the pleased look on Sanji’s face, and once again drives his left fist towards his opponent, successfully hitting him square in the stomach. The blond stumbles back, doubled over and groaning.
Shit, did I go too far?
Sanji uses the moment of hesitation to strike. He swings his leg out in a swift crescent, and sweeps Zoro’s feet from under him; Zoro falls inelegantly to the floor with a loud grunt. Before he can recover, Sanji lands heavily on top of him, straddling his waist and grabbing his wrists, pinning them to the floor on either side of his head.
“Cheater,” Zoro spits, looking furiously up at his opponent.
“Sore loser,” Sanji retorts, grinning, and he’s got that wild, victorious glint of pride in his dark brown eyes that makes Zoro’s blood boil.
They’re both panting heavily. They should really get up, Zoro thinks, the fight’s over, but their gazes are locked together, and he can’t bear to tear his eyes away. Suddenly Sanji shifts, and as soon as he does, the position they are in becomes at once all too clear; it seems Sanji has realised too, as his cheeks flush pink and his heavy gaze wavers. Still, neither of them move. To move, after all, would be to admit ultimate defeat. As they continue to stare each other down, a small amount of blood begins to trickle from Sanji’s nose. It dribbles, slowly, over his Cupid’s bow and rolls off his top lip, falling through the air that has grown thick between them and dripping—one drop, then two—onto the curve of Zoro’s right cheek.
“Fuck,” Sanji mutters, wiping at his nose with the corner of his sleeve, but the damage is done. With a grin, Zoro darts his tongue out as he feels the blood droplets running further down his face and licks them away from the corner of his lip, making sure never to break eye contact with the blond above him as he does so. “Ugh,” Sanji says, nose crinkled in disgust. “You freak.”
With that, he pushes himself off of Zoro and stands, his face still flushed and mildly horrified, excess blood still visible across the tip of his nose.
Cute, Zoro thinks, and immediately shakes himself free of the thought. He must’ve hit his head pretty hard on the floor when the bastard kicked him down.
x
Zoro can feel Sanji watching him as he gets changed; his eyes might as well be boring holes into his bare back, and along with losing the sparring match, the heat of the locker room, and the beads of sweat running down and tickling between his muscles, it's starting to piss him off.
“Knock it off, will you?” Zoro says finally, turning around just in time to see Sanji avert his gaze away from him. “Is there something on my back?”
“Do me a favour,” Sanji says, completely ignoring Zoro’s question, and the fact that he’d apparently been ogling him for the past two minutes.
“No,” Zoro says immediately.
“Fine,” Sanji shrugs. “I’ll ask Nami to taste test my Mediterranean platter instead.”
“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, now hold on a second,” Zoro chuckles, grabbing the blond by the arm as he starts to walk away, “no need to be hasty. Of course I’ll do you a favour.”
Sanji may be annoying, and uptight, and smug, and vain, and apparently he has a staring problem, but man is he a good cook. It’s no surprise that he’s top of all his classes on his Culinary Arts course. Zoro wouldn’t give up an opportunity to eat his food for anything.
“Idiot,” Sanji scoffs, shoving a large wooden lunchbox at him. It’s tied shut with red and white bakers’ twine, and there’s a folded piece of paper tucked under the knot. “There’s a questionnaire to go along with it on the top there. Don’t just eat it all and give the box back, I need honest feedback.”
“Oh, I’ll be honest,” Zoro promises with a firm nod.
“I’m sure.” Sanji scowls. “Bye, Mosshead.”
“See ya, Curly.”
With a last roll of his eyes, Zoro tucks the lunchbox into his bag carefully and begins the walk back to his dorm.
x
It’s delicious, obviously. Annoyingly. Stupid cook.
Zoro tries to write feedback that isn’t just ‘tastes really good’, and after scrambling his brain trying to figure out anything he could possibly critique the food on, he musters up a fully-answered questionnaire that is equally complimentary and constructively critical. Once he’s put that aside, he pulls his laptop out to resume research for his own work.
Usopp’s idea floats to the forefront of his mind; maybe not something as on the nose as a rainbow, but showcasing diversity in a form of photography that usually seems to have a pretty narrow window of representation isn’t a bad idea. And despite Usopp’s teasing, getting guys dolled up in the pin-up style is one way to start.
He considers his options. Usopp himself already said no, but Zoro is pretty sure he could figure out a way to convince him. Luffy would probably say yes. He could ask Robin to ask her weird friend Franky but he fears he may be too enthusiastic. He could ask Sanji, but that idea is hardly worth entertaining; as if Sanji would say yes.
He would look cute all made up and posing in a little pink swimsuit though…
The image comes to Zoro in a flash, unbidden, and as soon as he’s processed it, he jolts up from his chair, horrified. For his own mind to betray him with such a thought…
To his mounting alarm, there’s an uncomfortable heat beginning to curl in his stomach, moving dangerously down to prickle between his legs, and he decides he needs to go outside and get some fresh, cold air, and to stop thinking about men in lingerie. It’s getting him too worked up; dedicated as he may be to his study and his craft, he is nevertheless not completely immune to his more base desires.
“I’ll take the stupid lunchbox back,” he mutters to himself, grabbing his coat. Seeing Curly’s annoying cocky face will stop me thinking about…whatever that was, he thinks. He doesn’t dare say it aloud.
So, he trudges through the already-navy evening with the lunchbox and the completed questionnaire, making his way towards the building where Sanji shares a flat with Usopp and Luffy. To his relief, the cool air does calm his racing mind a little, and he relaxes, choosing to write off his unsavoury thoughts as the product of a long and relentless day.
When he reaches their front door, he has to knock three times before it’s answered. Poor Usopp stands blearily in the doorway, in his pyjamas, evidently having just been woken up.
“Whassap?” he slurs, blinking sleepily at Zoro.
“Sorry, man,” Zoro says quietly, “I didn’t realise you guys were all asleep. I had to get out, the research was making me feel insane. Thought I’d bring back Curly’s lunchbox.”
“‘S fine,” Usopp mumbles, letting his friend inside. “Think Sanji’s still awake. Y’can just go straight through.”
Muttering his thanks to Usopp, Zoro tiptoes through the living room, past the sofa where Luffy is snoring loudly with a half eaten family size packet of crisps clutched in his fist, and walks into the hallway that leads to Sanji’s room. He knocks softly, and gets no response, but when he pushes the door lightly it opens with no resistance, so he steps inside.
The sight he is met with makes him freeze dead in his tracks.
Sanji—at least, he thinks it’s Sanji— is lying curled up, asleep, in a flower field of pink; the fluffy rug spread out underneath him, and the long piece of satin fabric draped over the clothing rail now towering above his sleeping form surround him with a perfect monochrome. Strings of plastic roses hang down in shades of red, peach, and dark coral which match the polish on his fingernails, and the makeup which has been skillfully applied to his eyelids, cheeks, and lips. An array of brushes, eyeshadow palettes, hair clips, and a myriad of jewellery pieces lay at the base of a still-glowing ring light, throwing a harsh, hot beam over the scene, like a spotlight. The material of Sanij’s clothes sparkles in the gleam. If they can be called clothes. All that covers his body is a very, very sheer chiffon nightdress, adorned with lace and little bows. His long legs are bare, except for thigh-high stockings and a garter belt, glittering and pink like everything else.
There’s no way. There’s no fucking way.
Zoro’s mind races as he scrabbles for the doorknob. His insufferably formal, girl-crazy, arrogant, straight classmate is Candy-Chan, beloved and obsessed over by hundreds of men? For how long? Do Usopp or Luffy know? Does anyone know? Except for him?
Panic and guilt churn in his stomach in equal measure. He’s clearly walked in on something he wasn’t supposed to see, but then again, why would the idiot not lock his bedroom door? He wonders if he should wake him up, when suddenly Sanji stirs, and Zoro nearly jumps out of his skin. To his relief, Sanji doesn’t open his eyes, just mumbles and shifts on the rug slightly, and Zoro decides he’ll just leave. He’s about to walk back into the hallway when his bag bumps against the doorframe, and he remembers why he came here in the first place.
Right. Lunchbox.
As quietly as he possibly can, he pulls it out of his bag, creeps over to Sanji’s desk, and lays it beside his pile of notebooks. He looks over his shoulder back at the sleeping figure. An uncomfortable heat creeps up Zoro’s neck and onto his face, and he looks away again quickly. He opens the notebook on top of the pile to a blank page, plucks out the first pen he sees, and scribbles down, thanks 4 the food. was rly good. Then, without really thinking about it, he adds below, u look pretty in pink btw.
He puts the pen back, leaves the room, and shuts the door behind him.
When he returns to the living room, Usopp is still there, perched on the sofa by Luffy’s feet, presumably having waited for Zoro to finish his business with Sanji. The thought makes Zoro swallow thickly, again wondering how much—if anything—Usopp or Luffy know about what he just saw. Still in a daze, Zoro nudges Usopp, apologising profusely for waking him for a second time, and hopes that his friend isn’t awake enough to notice Zoro’s shaking hands, and the grimace that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he tells Usopp goodnight and thanks for letting him out. Then he scurries away down the corridor, out of their building, and walks all the way back to his dorm in complete silence.
Terror seizes him the second he sits down on his own bed.
Why the fuck did I do that?!